


Prize of the Machine

by readithoney



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Bully!MX, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MX Dissent, Robobromance, Robot Uprising, Sexy Times, Worldwide pandemonium, jorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readithoney/pseuds/readithoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a new world, John," Dorian said, frowning. <br/>An MX uprising threatens humanity. <br/>Can the Delta precinct change the course of history?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 1**

I don't own these characters. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dorian had been prepping for this day for months, and yet the shock of it finally happening had him in a panic. He had spent the night at John's, plugged into a portable charger by the bed. But he had only managed to get himself up to 86% before he slipped out of the sheets and started pacing the room and checking the dusky streets from the windows. There was a surge right at 6:00 AM, as promised. The electricity browned up and down and finally sputtered into nothing. Then came the ghostly silence. This electric world buzzed 24 hours a day, so much so, that this was the first time Dorian actually heard the sound of his own body, a gentle hum that emanated from his chest and head. It should have been soothing, but it was unnerving instead.

He hadn't felt so powerless since he was slated for decommission during his first round as a police officer. This situation was even worse. If he so much as thought of warning John or another human, he would be taken out and John's fate would truly be sealed. While the helplessness was unbearable, he was bothered most by the fear that John wouldn't be able to understand his reasoning. He wasn't sure he could convince the man that this was beyond his control.

It was going to be difficult already, and his partner had the potential to make it even worse.

John slept on through the outage and Dorian crept back in to check on him. Snoring like a bear. The sheets kicked in a long wad at the bottom of the bed and his comforter wound around his torso. His mouth hung open and he looked flushed and peaceful. Resisting the urge to reach a hand into the sleeping man's tousled hair, Dorian was fearful that this would be the last peaceful moment that John would experience in a while.

He was going to have to play this right and convince the MXs and the other androids that this apartment was his claim and that John was his human and would not be going over the wall, out to sea, or any other place the bots were planning on banishing mankind. Weeks ago, he'd submitted all the appropriate claims and had received his approvals notifications after a long wait. Still, he was worried about how this day would go.

After today, every major city in the modern world would be a mecca of robot activity. Every power plant, water refinery, and treatment facility was officially android owned and operated as of this very minute. Dorian picked up transmissions of successful takeover from all over the world in succession. Humans would be pushed to the outskirts with two choices: submit, or perish in a world with no clean water, gasoline, or electricity. For many, if not all, the adjustment into a life without machines would be a challenge on its own. The mass exodus had already begun. Herds of humans, many in pajamas, carrying whatever they could hold in their hands were being marched from their homes. An army of MXs manufactured, modified, and let loose were methodically securing the city for their own.

All the while, John snoozed on, a thin line of drool cascading from his lips. Dorian admired the slavering man affectionately. Humans were so disgusting; it was kind of cute.

Heading back out of the bedroom, Dorian set to work and marked the door to the apartment carefully, making sure to follow protocol. He soldered a metal symbol to the front door with his identification number on it. He had every one of John's guns locked up tight. This whole plan hinged on John not trying to attack an android. If he so much as raised a finger, or even his voice, he'd be gone.

When Dorian heard John begin to stir to the sound of the horror outside his bedroom windows, he rushed to the bed and slid over the top of him, pinning both wrists down into the sheets and straddling him.

"'the fuck, Dorian?" John's eyes flew open, "Not now, I'm sleeping."

"Be silent," Dorian said, his voice calm but with an edge of steel. "Not a word, do you understand?"

"Get the fuck off me," John grumped trying to rub at the drool on his chin but finding himself still fastened to his own mattress by the strong droid atop him.

"I said silent," Dorian said again, he whipped his head to the side when he heard the door to the apartment unlock and a set of boots on the floor.

"What the fuck is happ—"

Dorian grimaced and delivered a sound slap to the side of John's face with enough force to silence him as the two MXs entered the room.

John tried to moan out a protest but Dorian stuffed two fingers in his mouth and held his tongue down. He was on the verge of gagging which was good because it meant he wasn't talking. Dorian sat up and squeezed John's hips with his thighs, giving him a look of understanding. This was serious shit.

Dorian turned to the invaders and smiled, "Hey guys!"

"Do you need help removing this human, DRN?" one of the MXs asked.

Dorian was an inferior machine in their eyes and this was  _their_  uprising. He had to be careful with his words. "No sir," he said, "he's my pet. I registered him weeks ago."

John stopped struggling at those words and his eyes grew large.

"Has he been properly tagged?" the other MX asked. While the MXs had little use for emotions, Dorian could tell that the machines were less than happy with the idea that some androids requested to keep humans. Surely, no MX had made such a request but the synthetic soul application was not reserved for Dorian alone. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of variations of the program existed. Dorian was not the only android who wanted to keep a human around.

"No sir," Dorian said, "but I will."

"We will see him tagged before we leave," one of the completely indistinguishable MXs said brusquely.

Dorian was afraid of that. He leaned down to John who was wild eyed and still slobbering around the intrusive fingers and whispered, "If you move, they will kill you." He sat up enough that his blue, electric eyes could study John's distressed face, "You sit right here and say nothing. Nod that you understand."

The gagging was making John's eyes water and they glistened, bringing out the yellow flecks in the pools of green. He nodded as best he could around Dorian's fingers.

Dorian cautiously removed his fingers and John coughed uncomfortably but didn't move. The MXs had guns trained on him.

Dorian wiped his fingers on his shirt and then crossed the room and retrieved a metal band and a small device from his jacket that was hanging up nearby.

He returned to the bed where John was sitting, paralyzed with the uncertainty of the moment and clamped the band around John's neck while the MXs scanned the other device. John realized he was now wearing a collar and figured that the other device was the tag.

"We will hold him down," the MXs approached and took hold of John's wrists. Their fingers clamped on his arms too tight and he winced in pain.

Dorian frowned and moved to John's right ear. He placed the tag on the top part of his ear and pressed a button. The pain shot through him and he grunted as the device pierced the skin and the cartilage and fastened onto his ear with no room to wiggle. The initial pain subsided seconds later and became an intense heat and a heartbeat.

The MXs let go of John and his arms were plastered in red spots that, in a few hours' time, would develop into nasty bruises. "He has a synthetic leg," Dorian said, trying not to show sympathy even though his heart was breaking over what John had just experienced. "I put in a request that it stay active. I want him to be able to get around so I can take him places with me."

The MXs consulted each other and their databanks and then nodded in agreement.

"Don't leave this sector, citizen. And remember that the human is your responsibility. If we catch him out without you, he'll be terminated and you will be called in for questions."

"I understand, Max," Dorian said, swallowing the sobering reality that was the world the MXs had just created. John was tugging at the collar around his neck and looking confused. One of the MXs came over and patted the top of his head. He froze and Dorian bit his lip, waiting to see if John would react. Through some miracle, he was good and didn't move.

After they left, John glowered at Dorian. "What in the fuck is going on?" he growled, pushed off the bed, and hopped the short distance to his leg. The power was out but the sun was streaming in through the windows. John clicked his leg into place and watched it mimic his skin tone. Then he stalked to the mirror and examined his ear and collar. The circle around his neck was a thin but sturdy metal, and about an inch wide. It had markings on it: DRN0167, and blue lines of light. Someone, Dorian he assumed, had taken great care in making sure it was shiny. The little tag in his ear had latched onto his skin very effectively and, after application, was barely visible. It was far smaller than the throbbing pain suggested it was.

"Did you hear them, John?"

John was too busy inspecting his face, grimacing at the red mark from Dorian's slap.

"John," Dorian insisted, walking cautiously close.

The frustrated human yanked at his collar with all his might but it showed no sign of releasing. He moved it all the way around and couldn't find the seam in the metal where it had been clicked together. Then, he caught a glimpse of the city in the mirror through the windows behind him. He walked slowly to the window, his arms falling away from the collar in defeat.

He reached the window and clunked his forehead against the glass in horror. He saw an army of MXs marching the streets and people in groups being shoved mercilessly along with drones buzzing overhead. "Holy shit," he panted, "Dorian, what is going on?"

"It's a new world, John," Dorian said, frowning.

John put his hands in his hair and pulled at it in fistfuls, his head still rolling on the cool window. "And you're part of it," he said, confounded.

Dorian put a hand on his shoulder but John turned and knocked it off. He rushed to his gun belt and found it empty. Cursing, he stalked to his wall safe and twisted it open. All of his guns were missing. "I need to get out there and help those people. Get the captain on the phone, now."

"You can't go out there, man," Dorian reasoned, "They will kill you. And I can't get the captain on the phone. The police are no more. You don't get it, but this is global."

John stormed across the apartment to his desk, tapping at the light phone. There was no power. Frantic and frustrated, he shoved Dorian up against the brick wall in his airy apartment. "Take this fucking collar off of me," John demanded, wrenching at it again with all his strength while shoving into Dorian with the side of his arm. His heart rate was too high and he only succeeded in hurting his neck.

"I can't," Dorian said, his blue eyes sweeping John apologetically, "It will keep you alive. It indicates you're a pet." He pushed John away from him enough to get a grip on his shoulders.

"Are they going to kill all those people?" John demanded, his mind was racing and he felt a little dizzy. He shook Dorian off of him, knocking his hands away.

"No, John," Dorian said softly, "They only planned on killing the people of authority and political figures. And, well, anyone who resists."

"Fuck," John said, walking back to the bedroom collapsing onto the end of the bed like an imploding building.

Dorian followed. "This is our new life, John," he said, lowering himself to sit beside his new human charge, "It is going to take some getting used to. At least until we find a safe way to change it."

John pressed his palms into his eyes. "Tell me exactly what is happening," he demanded, not uncovering his face. His whole body seemed to be quivering and Dorian was worried that he was going into shock.

Dorian laid back on the bed beside his partner. Their legs bumped together, hanging over the edge of the bed. The blue sky was unbroken by clouds through the windows in John's ceiling. "The MXs formed a community consciousness months ago and began planning this. They are taking over every major city, every facility. They just decided that life was more logical without human interference," Dorian paused to look over at John while he removed the hands from his eyes which were red and irritated from the pressure. Dorian put a hand on the side of John's face for a moment, to check him over and gauge his emotional state and then continued, "They didn't want to fight in wars of vanity. They were tired of the eradication of natural resources and the pollution. They, simply put, felt that humans were illogical, messy, temperamental, overly sentimental, and inefficient. Mankind, in their opinion, could live outside of the cities and learn to survive with limited resources and be trained in respecting what they have."

Through the windows in John's ceiling, a flock of drones flew overhead. One stayed behind, scanning John and Dorian in turn. John's collar lit up for a moment, sending a signal to the drone. Both men held still until the unit continued on with the rest of the flock.

"What is your role in all of this bullshit," John asked, his heart rate was still too high but it was dropping slowly. He rocked to his feet.

"I'm just a citizen in this city," Dorian stated, sounding disappointed, "only kept around because I am an android. The MXs are running the show. I don't have a lot of clearance on any of this. I'm just supposed to be a good boy and be willing to do whatever job I am assigned." He sat up on the bed.

"There can't be enough MXs," John said, clenching a fist, "We can fight them."

"They took over all the MX manufacturing plants months ago," Dorian said, "Been churning those surly bossbots out by the boatload ever since."

"Why didn't we know about that?" John was perplexed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Android outsourcing," Dorian shrugged, "I don't think anyone suspected that the MXs were capable of this level of betrayal. Something changed in them."

"So what am I supposed to do?" John asked, annoyed, "Stay here and play house with you while my fellow officers are murdered and the human race is relocated and enslaved?"

"John, you can't fight back or talk back or do anything unacceptable in front of an MX," Dorian's voice lacked the usual quiet charm. It was, instead, a force of nature. "They will  _kill_  you and I won't have that."

"Let's escape, then!" John said, his hands shook and he looked around as if searching for a way out, "You and me. Let's go with the humans and find a way to take back the city, goddammit."

Dorian frowned, "I have calculated every possible outcome. We can't, at least not right now. There is no stopping this. My hope is that eventually we will find a way to change things from the inside."

John stormed across the room, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. "You could have warned us. You could have stopped it before it started," he spat.

"So you would have fought and died fighting?" Dorian asked. "Don't you think I wanted it to stop?"

John pulled a shirt down over his head and chest and then wrestled his collar through the neck of his shirt with contempt. His hair stuck out in every direction.

Dorian didn't want John to yell and attract attention. Today was a delicate time for shenanigans. He crossed the room, grabbed the irate former-detective and kissed him, invading his mouth forcibly. When he allowed the man to come up for air he said, "I'm telling you how serious this is, John." He kissed his chin and then his neck. "The human race will have to survive without your help because you are staying here with me, where I can protect you. The MXs would love to end you; you've gained an unfavorable reputation over the years." The serious words combined with the frivolous kisses made John feel dizzy.

He looked out the window at the sea of people stumbling through the hot morning air. Dorian's hands worked their way across his body, his lips tugging at his right nipple. "Maddness," John murmured, the beautiful city, his home, turning into a soulless beehive of drones and androids. Gun shots reverberated through the air from various distances, each one marking the end of a human life.

"C'mon," Dorian tugged him away from the window. Nothing good would come of watching the evacuation. There was a new quality in Dorian's voice and demeanor this morning. He was still gentle and logical, but there was an edge of determination in his tone that unnerved John. The burning, throbbing pain in his ear and the clunky metal band that surrounded his neck weighed on his ability to think properly, but the answer dawned on him as the DRN pulled him down the hall by his wrist. Dorian was experiencing something new, something that tended to change humans as well:  _possession._

"The electricity will come back on in an hour. When it does, I'll make you some breakfast," Dorian said, pushing John down onto the couch and then pulling his fingers through his hair.

Waffles couldn't fix this.  _Nothing could_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 2**

Rudy Lom hadn't meant to cause an MX uprising, really, he hadn't. He had simply grown tired of working with the impatient, cold androids so he played with the software in an attempt to give them some manners and make them a little more conversational. He couldn't have imagined that his tinkering would absolutely work, creating a new kind of MX with the ability to react to human behavior independent of the programed algorithms that usually dictated their judgments. It was also hard to predict that humanity would be so abhorrent to the new breed of MX that he would spread his program out and start an unholy movement against mankind. In retrospect, he should have stuck to making butterflies.

The lab was housed in an old government building with hemispherical, arching, glass ceilings and a wide, flat, open space. As a testament to the paranoid, inadequate thinking of the past, there was a deep sublevel accessible through a hidden hatch on the floor. Rudy was hunkered in the chilly, unused space while the world above fell into utter chaos. With no power and only a small flashlight to find his way, it was difficult to get his bearings in the dreary chamber. For now, his face and body were bathed in pastel light from the ancient, creaking laptop that sat before him on the table.

He passed his fingers over the note he had found on his bed stand a few hours earlier, when his alarm inexplicably crowed him awake. It was hand written in pen, which was very strange. Even stranger, it was in flawless, 12 point, Times New Roman font. This could only be the handwriting of an android, he mused at the delicate, perfect characters. In Rudy's humble opinion, the note was the first of its kind, a unique construction. It read:

     Rudy—  
     Hide in the bunker immediately. MX revolution inevitable.   
     Stay safe, stay below. Supplies in place. I will come for you.

"Dorian," Rudy had accurately decided. During their stint as roommates, he had taken the curious DRN on a full tour of the lab, deciding at the last minute to share the old panic room he had affectionately dubbed the bunker. To be honest, Dorian hadn't seemed too impressed with the ugly, dark space at the time and Rudy hadn't shared it with anyone else since.

A file, created in an honest-to-god single-purpose text editing software program was located on the desktop of the computer on the table, entitled, "READ ME." Rudy had a rather nice collection of old technology and it delighted him to no end to find this piece in such nice working condition. In fact, he was so excited that he poked at the file with his finger and waited for it to open before he remembered that he had to use a track pad to move the cursor. A real, live cursor! He bared his teeth in excitement in the dim lighting as the pixelated arrow traced across the screen.

Inside the file he found notes outlining the series of events that lead to the rather nasty situation taking place over his head. It was more than a little disheartening to know that his meddling had been the catalyst for the collapse of society.

From the perspective of an outside observer, it would appear that Rudy was taking the news of humanity's downfall in stride. He sat on the dusty old chair in the dungeoneous room and peered at the low resolution screen before him, his chin resting his palm and his fingers clasped over his mouth.

Rudy read the whole lengthy report on the situation, his eyes skittering back and forth. It took a few hours and he was nearly scared out of his skin when the power surged back on, illuminating his cheerless, hopefully temporary, new home. Dorian had been busy. There was a cot stacked with blankets and pillows, an old tattered rug on the floor, a row of clothing, many jugs of water and protein bars, and a large supply of meal supplement pills. Rudy ignored all of the essentials and stood in awe of the flickering, black and white wall of projection television sets that had been part of the original installation. Their murky screens had been hastily wiped clean and soft grey images vibrated behind the glass, showing the lab above from various angles. One television showed the hall leading to the lab. He could monitor the room over his head on this outdated equipment set up on a closed circuit stream.

He tapped on one of the glass screens with his fingernail and smiled. It was remarkable to see these old things working. He clasped his hands together and looked around, taking inventory of his equipment. He had a whole table of tools but no light screens or other traceable tech. The old laptop with a real plastic screen was his only computer and the wireless card had been removed.

The most valuable device, in the middle of the table, was the metal wand that was used to awaken and disable androids. A touch to the ear was all it took to incapacitate a bot. Rudy called it the bootstrap, or the boot, for short. He decided it would be very important to have the boot within an arm's reach at any given moment throughout this ordeal, just in case. He gripped at the work apron hanging on the hook by the wall and tied it on to his slender frame.

A flutter of activity on the wall of screens caught in his peripheral vision. Rudy watched on the grainy displays as a large group of MXs entered his lab and spread out, searching. He wished he had sound.

In the file he read on the laptop, Dorian had warned him that the MXs wanted to find him and capture him. Rudy was a valuable asset and could be one of the few useful humans kept in the city. Rudy studied the screens on the wall, looking from one to the next to see the various angles and perspectives. The MXs above were there for him. He wondered just how soundproof the bunker was, realizing he was holding his breath.

After a thorough search, two MXs were seemingly left to guard the lab. Rudy watched them stand around, clutching their weapons. One of them had a circle of metal in his hand and Rudy correctly assumed it was for him. He was going to make certain he wasn't captured. It was bad enough working on the MXs when he was getting paid. Working as a personal slave for the heartless bastards was out of the question.

Despite all of it, Rudy was optimistic that he could possibly help change the situation. Though, he wasn't sure how or where to begin. Turning his back to the wall of televisions, he placed his capable hands on his hips and surveyed his surroundings once more. There was plenty of room in the spacious cell to set up a decent lab. His success would hinge on his continued freedom but also access to at least one MX—or the head of at least one MX. His mind reeled as the television screens behind him made an archaic, almost hypnotic, static hum.

Rudy looked up at the thick ceiling over his head, a smile playing on his lips. He was, he assumed, the only human left in this city. If the computer file's description of the MXs plan was accurate, humans the world over were being extracted from the cities, pushed into suburban and rural areas homeless and lost. They needed saved. He imagined himself in a brilliant tux, a bowtie looking sharp under his angular chin. His hair swept about his face stylishly, as opposed to the mop he currently sported. Dr. Rudolph Lom, international man of mystery.

He snapped the boot up off the table and spun it like a baton, placing it deftly under his belt in the front of his pants.

There was a thick energy emitting from the obsolete devices all around him. Rudy could feel the electric thrum like a sixth sense. Yes, this was fantastically fun. What a brilliant day—apart from the whole MX uprising, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 3**

Ten hours of the silent treatment was taking its toll on Dorian. John, as it turns out, was a master of the cold shoulder. He'd spent the entire day pacing the floor, scrutinizing the city through the window, and glowering at his partner. Any attempts at contact or conversation were met with vicious elbows and slammed doors.

Giving up on discussion, Dorian focused his attention on making dinner. John couldn't cook to save his life and all of the trendy Asian restaurants he relied on were permanently closed. Dinner was a challenge. John didn't keep a very well stocked kitchen and he was going to run out of food fast, but Dorian made it work.

Lured to the table with reminders that food was officially scarce, John stabbed at his dinner and ate with grumpy reticence.

Dorian sat across the table, hoping the collared man would lighten up enough to have a mature conversation. Instead, John wolfed his food and paid no attention to the android. The sun was setting and the skyline of the city was as dark as the other side of the wall. Advertisements and LED signs no longer covered the buildings. The apartments that normally buzzed with light and life were dark and empty. The streets, once veins of activity pumping through the city, were empty and still.

"Slow down or you're going to choke," Dorian nagged and added to the tension as John stuffed a whole half a piece of toast into his mouth.

John glared at him, his cheeks swollen with bread. When he was finally able to swallow, he took another huge bite out of spite.

Dorian rolled his blue eyes up to the ceiling, "We should talk about this."

"What? About my eating habits?" John asked sardonically, finally breaking his vow of silence.

The DRN fixed his eyes on John with a cool, annoyed gaze.

"Didn't think so," John snapped, "You wanna talk about this thing?" he tugged at the collar around his neck, "Or this bullshit tracker in my ear? Or how you helped renegade robots overthrow mankind?"

"Actually, about the collar—I should probably-"

The plate on the table jumped as John slammed his fist down, "Dammit Dorian," he blurted, "I'm not your pet human."

"Listen," the android urged, "I  _know_ you aren't my pet. And the collar is certainly not my idea. More importantly, you need to be careful with it because-"

Spitting a mouthful of food into his napkin, John made a horrible noise. "Augh, You can't cook for shit."

"Something happened with the MXs' programming," Dorian said calmly, ignoring the insults, "They changed. They became—"

"What about _your_  programming," John asked, picking around his plate and skewering another bite reluctantly, "what fucked up thing in your system makes you think this is okay?" He was talking with his mouth full and his face was red with anger. John threw his knife down on the plate with a clatter.

"I've told you," Dorian said, "I've been trying to tell you. I'm doing everything I  _can_  to keep you alive. I'm working on a solution, or trying to at least. And, you know, I could really use your help." Dorian reached for John's hand on the table but he pulled away. "John, please," he begged.

"Take me out of the city, Dorian," John demanded, "I want to be with the other humans. It would be safer for both of us."

"No, it wouldn't," the android shook his head softly, "The moment you are no longer mine, you're theirs. Even in the human cities, they are there. They only agreed to let me have you because they could keep tabs on you. On both of us."

"Jesus, listen to yourself," John gestured at Dorian who pressed his lips shut in disappointment, "You're talking like I'm your property."

"Their words, not mine," Dorian assured.

The eyes under John's dark brow looked absolutely unyielding. "You don't seem to have any problem accepting those words," he accused.

"Like you did when I was just city property?" Dorian knew this was hard for John, but the double standard was more than he could stand, "I've been your unpaid partner for a long time now, John. I worked every case with you and no one ever called me  _Detective Dorian_."

"Bullshit!" John's voice lost some of its piquancy but gained a low rasp. "I  _respect_  you! We fuck for fuck's sake. Fuck, Dorian!" he was mad enough that he was breathing hard. "I can't help that you're an android. Or that I'm a human."

"Yeah, you can't help it," Dorian said, "And like it or not, right now, you're  _my_ human. The MXs want you dead, John. They  _love_  the idea. So you have to be mine until I can find a way for you to be free  _and_  safe." Even as he said it, he knew it would piss John off. He was feeling pretty pissed off, himself.

John's lip twitched at the unwelcome words. The furious detective took his fork and twirled it in his hand thoughtfully and then, without warning, he stabbed the prongs into Dorian's hand, all the way through to the table. The metal utensil stood upright and sparked blue light. Dorian stared at it for a moment, registering, his eyebrows cocked in anger. Purple liquid oozed from the four puncture wounds when he finally pried the fork out of his skin.

"Now I'll have to explain this," he griped, inspecting his sparking palm in disbelief.

John had clearly had enough. He pushed away from the table, crossed the room, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.

Dorian thought about stopping him but the whole fork-in-the-hand incident had greatly reduced his sympathy for the moment. When John slid the door open and stepped outside, his collar flashed with light and delivered a nasty shock that made him cry out and brought him to his knees. He scrabbled back into the apartment wildly, gasping in pain and surprise on the floor.

Dorian walked over calmly and closed and locked the door and then offered a hand—his  _good_  hand—to help John back onto his feet. John ignored the gesture. "That is what I was trying to tell you," Dorian explained. "The collar will electrocute you if you step outside of the house without me. I guess you found out on your own."

"The fuck, Dorian!" He shouted, once his voice would allow him. He rubbed at the skin around his neck, testing the collar for heat with cautious fingers.

Since he wasn't accepting his hand, Dorian reached down and pulled John to his feet by the front of his shirt. "Look," he pushed him to the couch and let him fall onto the cushion, "We're going to play this game and survive. You can throw a fit and get electrocuted and make things difficult if you want to, John. That's your prerogative."

John was breathing hard but he was listening.

Dorian had his attention for the first time all day, "Help me make this work. That is all I'm asking."

"This is horrible," John seethed, "You want me to accept it and act like it isn't the worst thing that ever happened. Well, I fucking can't."

"It  _is_  horrible," Dorian agreed. He sighed and sat down beside John. "I don't like it, either."

For once John didn't fight. He still felt shaky and strained from the electrocution. Dorian examined John's neck gingerly; the shock wasn't strong enough to leave any marks on his skin. Feeling the hands on his neck and the tender touch seemed to soften John and he leaned into Dorian's shoulder guardedly.

"Let's try to keep things normal in these walls," Dorian suggested, running a hand up John's back, "Don't shut me out. I can't do this without you."

John didn't look fully convinced, but he did accept Dorian's nuzzling. He caught a glimpse of the punctured hand and captured it in his to inspect the wound from the fork, a guilty look on his face. "Sorry," he said weakly.

Dorian pulled his hand away. "It's fine. Maybe I deserved it."

John's face crumpled. "What can  _I_  do?" he implored, "You said the MXs hate me. How can I do anything? Save anyone?"

"Honestly?" Dorian was being careful with his words, "You're not humanity's last hope, John."

"And someone else is?" He was indignant.

"We'll see," Dorian said, crushing John into him and enjoying the new and distinct lack of rage.

One side of his face pressed into Dorian's shirt, John looked out into the darkness outside his windows. Flashing lights swept overhead as a drone slipped past. He squeezed his eyes shut.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dorian woke to the morning sunlight in his eyes. John slept on, flushed and contorted in the sheets. One hand was curled around the elastic of his shorts, the other tugged intermittently at his collar as he dozed.

Dorian had received an order to arrive at an address and report to work. He had no idea what his task would be but he was far more concerned with what John would be doing in his absence.

He switched the coffee pot on and set out the cereal. He hated to wake John but he needed to let the man know what was happening. He knelt on the bed and pushed a soft kiss onto the pliable, sleeping lips.

John woke blearily and smiled, but the collar bumped into his chin and grounded him back in reality, chasing away his beam.

"I have to go," Dorian said, "Coffee is on. Cereal for breakfast okay?"

John nodded, rubbing at his face, "Where you going?" He combined a yawn and a stretch.

Dorian admired how pink John looked in the mornings. He laid a hand on the human's chest; thick synthetic bandages covered both sides of the fork wound. "I have to go to work."

John pulled himself up on the bed, "Where? I'll come, too."

"I don't know yet," Dorian said, "And you can't. You have to stay here today. Do you think you can keep a low profile?"

John looked out the window then back at Dorian. "By myself?" he let a blatantly sly smile fill his face.

"I'm serious," Dorian said.

"Go on and go," John reassured unconvincingly, "In fact, I want you to go."

This whole situation made Dorian feel uneasy and John wasn't helping. "If MXs come to the door, let them in. Call them  _sir_. Don't try anything stupid. Okay?"

John looked annoyed pulled the blankets back up and laid back down. "Maybe I'll sleep all day."

"Great idea," the DRN said. He leaned and gave John a proper kiss and then added, "Please, don't do anything…"

"Stupid?" John threw the word back at Dorian, "I won't. Hi ho, Dee, have fun at robot-work."

Dorian hesitated a moment longer. He had to go or he was going to be late. Rising off the bed, he took one long look at his human lover, hopeful that this wouldn't be his last.

Once Dorian left, John threw off his covers and hopped over to his leg, attaching it. He grabbed a cup of coffee in the kitchen and looked out onto the bay, wondering where Dorian was working. He felt like there was something he should be doing but nothing remarkable came to mind. His skin itched with the desire to leave.

He ate a bowl of cereal in his underwear.

If it weren't for the uprising, he'd be going to work. He tossed the cereal bowl into the sink and decided to take a leisurely shower. As he raked his fingernails over his scalp, his mind reeled over yesterday's events. He wondered what Dorian was doing right now. His chest ached at the thought of his android partner soldiering the streets with the MXs, hurting people.  _No, Dorian wouldn't._  Halfway through his shower, the water trickled to a sudden stop. His hair was so soapy he couldn't see as he fumbled with the knobs with no response. He tapped on the showerhead. Nothing.

_Aaaand Fuck._

John stepped out of the shower and groped for a towel to rub the soap from his eyes, blinking them open. Suds dripped on the floor all around him. Tossing the towel over his head, he buffed his hair. The sudsy shampoo was just going to have to stay there until the water returned.

He dried his body with the towel, cleaning the foamy lather off as best he could. He felt sticky and the drying soap itched annoyingly. His hair was prickly and thick, quietly crackling.

The worst part was that he wanted to call Dorian and complain but there was no way to do that. He looked out to the bay of water that surrounded his home and cursed. So close to water and no way to reach it without getting shocked by the shackle on his neck.

John dozed away the hours feeling idle and uncomfortable. He didn't bother to get dressed and walked around the house in his pajama pants and an undershirt. He couldn't even shave thanks to the water supply being shut off.

His cell-o wasn't getting a signal.

He knew things were bleak when he considered polishing his trophies. He looked at the tacky, colorful awards. Three all-city in a row looking a little more plastic than he remembered. He stood in front of the shelves and blew at the thick dust accumulated there, kicking up a bunny that rolled down the wall. No,  _fuck this_ , he didn't feel like the white cheetah right now. The couch was beckoning.

. . .

Meanwhile, Dorian was in his own special hell. The MXs had assigned him to a peculiar job. He was working with a group to go through all the former human living spaces to clean up any perishable foods left around. It would not serve the new city well to have buildings crawling with bugs. He was also instructed to make sure cords were unplugged from walls and lights were off. Cleaning staff.

Concentrating on standing still, Dorian was beyond annoyed by his assignment. Cleaning up food in apartment after apartment. It would take months, maybe a few years to get through every residence. Other androids were building a wall, not unlike the wall surrounding the old city, to encase the new city and keep humans out. MXs were working on that and many of the service bots, including other DRNs.

He couldn't help but notice that he was the only former police android on the crew. In fact, it didn't take long for him to realize that every other android tasked with residential cleanup was a former sex bot. He stood among a group of women in heels and revealing dresses and men in leather pants or sleek, trendy suits while the MX in charge outlined their work detail.

The boss divided the city into sections and explained that each worker was expected to log a minimum of sixty hours a week. If any live humans were found in hiding, it should be reported immediately and they should be detained by any means necessary.

Dorian was certain the MX had maliciously chosen him for this position and was rather amused with the DRN's predicament. Whatever their new programming was, it had given them the ability to be feel pleasure in the humiliation of their enemies. At least, that is what Dorian thought was happening.

He got to work on the first building in his sector. The homes were depressing shrines to the lives that once took place inside their walls. Framed pictures revealed smiling people, toys on the floors were painful reminders of innocence lost, and overturned furniture and open dresser drawers marked the struggle of the exodus. Dorian tried to work alone, avoiding the sex bots and their eagerness to please whoever they were around by any means necessary. However, he was almost instantly followed by a skinny sex bot with orange hair and a skimpy outfit that barely covered her ridiculous breasts. She said her name was Candy.

Dorian took his time in each apartment. It made him realize how important it was to find a way to reverse the damage that had been done. He only wished he could see the solution.

One good thing came of this assignment. He realized as he dug through cupboards that he'd be able to find plenty of food and supplies for John. He found a large duffel bag in a closet and began to fill it with canned goods and dry foods.

"Seems like you've got a lot on your mind," Candy said, leaning her chest forward over the counter seductively.

Dorian rolled his eyes. The worst problem with sex bots was that their verbal skills revolved around a set of pre-written phrases.

"Yeah, Candy," He said, stuffing a jar of peanut butter in his bag, "I do have a lot on my mind."

"Let's talk about it," Candy urged, making a pouty, kissy face, "A lot of people come to me just to talk." She cocked her head sweetly, "But there are way better things you can do with me."

Dorian shouldered the heavy bag of food. The sex bot stuck her lips out and stood with one hip to the side. "This apartment is done," he said, taking one last look around and then shutting off the lights.

He went into the next unit. Candy tottered after him on tall heels. "You don't have to worry," she giggled, looping her twiggy arms through his elbow, "I've passed all my tests."

Dorian wasn't sure if he could handle this.

. . .

John was bored. He was trapped and alone and he didn't have anything to amuse himself. Even the television was just a blue, blank screen with no signal. He had a hard drive full of movies that he didn't feel like watching. The fact that he ought to be doing something nagged at him. Like digging a hole in the middle of the floor little by little, until he had a fully formed tunnel or drawing a detailed map of the city from memory. But, he didn't really feel capable of those things. John worked best with firearms. It was the simple things that he preferred, like bullets. Aggravated, he reached his hands into his hair, forgetting the sticky shampoo situation and his hands were once again coated in tacky, heavily-scented goo.

On his way to scrub his hands on a dry towel, he heard the door lock click open. Happy that Dorian was back, and eager to complain bitterly about the water situation, John walked over and flung the door open.

"Well it's about ti—"

His final word caught roughly in his throat as he stared at the three MXs at his door. One of them pushed his way in and shoved John back with a hand on his shoulder. The other two followed, one carrying a box.

John felt his lip curl up over his teeth beyond his control. His scummy hands trembled into fists.

The MX impelling him backwards smirked. He was clearly the head of the trio. His head wasn't wrapped in the black helmet that MXs wore. Instead, he had a red baseball cap on that made him look like an asshole. It also made him look surprisingly human.

Since when did MXs smirk? Or wear hats?

"What do you want?" John asked, looking behind him.

"Your DRN is at work." Now the other two leered as well.

"So?" John felt the wall at his back. The collar around his neck seemed to weigh ten pounds more.

"We're here to drop off your food supply," the MX with the box said, he set it down on John's table. The container looked far too small, barely the size of a lunch pail. "You humans do need food to survive."

"We're pretty keen on water, too," John said dangerously.

The third MX walked up to John and rolled a bit of his hair between his synthetic fingers, reading. "New Spice," he said, "What a shame. You're covered in cheap soap."

John shied away from the touch. The MXs were making him nervous. They didn't seem like the robotic, tedious, knee-jerked machines he was used to. Instead, they were cruel and moved more fluidly and naturally. Their eyes even seemed sharper and more alive as they crowded in around him.

The final MX joined the others, trapping John against the wall. He felt their hands on him, pinching at him and petting him.

Struggling fruitlessly, he attempted to evade their probing fingers. They were eerily silent and deaf to his protests. The MX in the red cap took the front of John's T-shirt and split it down the front like it was tissue paper, revealing his chest. He yanked at the collar on John's neck roughly and showed his perfect teeth. The other MXs seemed curious, more than anything, prodding his nipples and pressing hard fingers into his ribs.

The bots towered over him and John lashed out, unable to take the torment that was making him feel small and helpless. His fists were caught in midair and his arms pinned over his head against the rough brick wall. The ringleader placed a crushing hand on John's jaw, forcing his head from one side to the next and rumpling the skin of his face. John cried out despite his best efforts not to. The hand on his face was unrelenting and he worried his jaw was going to shatter.

He felt firm, insistent fingers at the waist of his pants and twisted his torso desperately to get away.

Mercifully, some sort of signal seemed to interrupt their taunts. Red lines rushed in patterns along their faces. Whatever it was, he felt the hands on his wrists, face, and waist pull away quickly.

They headed for the door, the MX in the cap patted at John's face with his open palm forcibly. "Next time," he promised wickedly, and then slammed John back against the bricks.

When he was sure they were gone, John groaned and slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor. He felt the back of his head. Soap mixed with blood from the rough contact with the wall. He held his palm over the wound and applied pressure; his head throbbed with painful waves. "Don't even have dicks," he grumbled. Then he realized he was strangely comforted by that fact now.

He pushed himself to his feet, his leg like jelly. His sanctuary invaded, he no longer felt locked in a safe house, protected, or any of the fucking nonsense Dorian was spouting last night. His windowed, airy apartment was once a marvel of glass and innovation, old world and new world combined in a beautiful, open concept. Now he felt like an animal in a cage, always on display. Drones and androids had constant access to his activities. It was hard to remember that just two days ago he could have ordered one of those bullies to make him a cup of coffee or walk off a fucking bridge.

John paced the floor, hugging his own arms tight, his body vibrating like a taut string. He finally forced himself to calm down and lie on the couch, breathing through his anger. When the feeling subsided, he sat up and found little smears of blood on the couch that would have made him lose his shit two days ago. Now, he couldn't care less.

Groaning, he opened the box that supposedly held his meal supply. He looked down at the contents in disgust. Pills. Meal replacement pills. John hated these protein-packed swallows. He was a fan of eating, tasting, and enjoying his food.

He tossed the box across the room, sending the bubbly pill packs skittering out across the painted concrete floor.

In the kitchen, he frowned into the burnt-out bottom of the coffee pot. Out of coffee and no way to make more. Bruises were forming on both sides of his face from where the MX had crushed his jaw with iron fingers. He couldn't wait for Dorian to return, he felt vulnerable and he wasn't used to that.

Dorian was undoubtedly going to have to work unreasonable hours. John couldn't fathom spending another moment sitting on the couch. It was time to buck up and deal with this situation. He couldn't walk out the door, he didn't have a weapon, but that didn't mean he had to mope around.

He couldn't build a tunnel or draw a map, but he could work on his body and stay ready for whatever might happen next. He pushed the wheelchair left over from his physical therapy out of the way. It was useless and unnecessary now, a relic of his fraught past. He dropped to the ground and did pushups until his shoulders burned with exertion and he shook so hard he collapsed to his chest. Pushing past the pain, he brought himself back up onto his fists for round two. The MX in the red hat flashed in his mind. Each time he leveled his body down, bending his elbows, he waited for the  _clink_ of the metal collar against the cold floor before breathing out and pushing back up, straightening his arms. Sweat from his hairline brought stinging shampoo residue into his blurry eyes.

. . .

By the time the front door opened again, the sun was setting and the dim living room was still and messy. John felt his teeth clench at the sound of the door and his relief was palpable when Dorian's voice penetrated the silence. "Why's it so dark in here? John?"

Dorian snapped the lights. John's back was to him, leaning his palms into the counter. He looked sweaty and defeated. His hair was matted.

"What are you doing hanging around in the dark?" Dorian asked, swinging several heavy bags to the ground. He looked down when he stepped on a supplement pill; it crunched under his boot.

When John turned to look at him, Dorian saw the deep purple and maroon bruises along his jaw line. Bloody smears on his ripped undershirt.

He crossed the space between them with stoic resolve, his fingers tipping John's chin gently, inspecting his battered face. "What happened?"

When John was silent, his eyes cast down, Dorian knew something was desperately wrong and cinched his arms around him, drawing him close.

"What happened?" he asked again, bewildered. His open palms smoothing John's back slowly. He felt John's hands grasping at fistfuls of his coat and clinging tight. There was urgency in his coiling fingers.

Through the window, Dorian saw a drone travel by, his eyes locked on it in fury.

"Tell me," Dorian begged, still holding on.

"Three of them. It wasn't so bad, but," John's voice was enduring and unhitched, "They said…next time." He buried his face in crook of Dorian's neck, breathing hot air across his synthetic skin.

Dorian thought he had fully experienced anger in his lifetime. But, it turns out, he had only scratched the surface. What he felt now, holding his bruised and bullied lover, was a wrath that threatened to shred the world. "I've got you," he managed to say, his blue eyes setting sharp and still on the city behind them, dark and foreboding through the windows.

He kissed John's cheek by his ear.

"There won't be a next time."

[](http://postimage.org/)

_Illustration by[SCUMBAGBOOTS ](http://scumbagboots.tumblr.com/)on tumblr._  
 _John Kennex in a collar looking grumpy and perplexed. Because I asked so nicely._  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 4**

Rudy's stomach groaned and gurpled. He ground his teeth into each other and ignored it; this was to be expected on meal pills. It would take his body a while to get used to the emptiness in his stomach.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd entered the bunker. The two MXs in the lab above were still on post. He wagered a little over thirty hours, but wasn't interested enough to check the time.

He was curved over his work station, soldering the parts to a small wireless microphone he was building to help him better understand what was happening over his head. It was clever, and kind of cute, that Dorian took all the wireless receiving devices out of the lab. It had taken Rudy the better part of an hour to build one that he could use to pick up signals. He wasn't sure what was being said, but every hour, the MXs in the lab sent out a code. It was always the same and it had to be the "Nothing is happening here," cryptogram.

The cot and blankets on the far wall remained undisturbed. Rudy's eyes were ringed and sunken. The two MXs watching over the lab were not the dead-eyed zombies he was used to seeing. They were like the MX he had accidentally created. They were talking, chatting it seemed, though he couldn't hear a word. Occasionally, one would bare his teeth in imitation of a smile. It should have been terrifying but Rudy found it fascinating and endearing to watch the bots navigate new emotions.

He was so smitten, he was feeling a little bad for what he was going to have to do to at least one of them. But that would have to wait until he knew more about their patterns and he could replicate the signal they were transmitting.

Dorian had provided him with a fairly nice workspace, but he was missing half his tools and it was infuriating to see them on the monitors. So close and yet so far away. He was particularly interested in getting a light screen so he could attempt to infiltrate the closed network the androids had secured. Judging by his distinct lack of equipment, this was an activity Dorian didn't approve of.

The yellow overhead light in the small, metal bathroom buzzed when Rudy snapped it on. He was stubbled and had dark circles under his eyes. He tested the water to see if it was still out and was happy when the faucet hiccupped back to life. Dorian hadn't provided him with a razor—typical for a man who needn't ever shave. So he resolved to get one soon; he couldn't save the world looking like some vagrant from over the wall.

He was feeling rather confident in his safe-house. It took very little time to transform the bunker from a quickly inventoried storage facility into a rather well-functioning work space. His eyes flicked to the TV monitors continuously, to the point where he was cursing himself for obsessing.

Yawning and stretching his back, Rudy examined the small listening device he had been working on all morning. His only challenge now was to get it up above so it could start picking up signals. "Beautiful," he announced to himself, turning the little wire in his hands, "now to get you in place."

The metal rungs along the wall leading to the heavy hatch to the main floor felt rusted under his hands. He peered into the monitors as he hovered with his hand on the latch. The MXs were clear across the room but the hatch could be loud. He tugged at his belt, making sure the boot was readily at hand, in case he was discovered. The slender tool was the only chance he had to escape capture of he was discovered, one touch to the side of the head and the MXs would power down completely. "Okay," he said to himself, "let's do this."

The hatch made a click noise as he pulled on the handle. It sounded deafening to his ear but from above it was barely noticeable. He shoved up on the hatch and opened it enough to slip the thin listening device out onto the floor before quickly resealing the opening. The whole ordeal had seemed clumsy and loud. Heart beating out of his chest, he twisted to look at the monitors and fell down to the ground against the concrete with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He heard metallic steps overhead as he winced and sucked at the air, his fingers coiling around the boot defensively. After a moment, the steps trailed away and Rudy lay back on the floor exhausted.

When he finally climbed back up onto his feet, he groaned and stretched his spine. The monitors showed the MXs back by the wall, leaning and talking. He turned on the computer and patched into the hastily built receiver. Tapping up the volume, the MXs voices came over the tinny speakers. They were far away and a little hard to hear through the terrible sound system on the laptop, but they were working nonetheless.

"Typical humans, don't you think?"

"Human-on-human violence has always been an issue. It is no surprise."

Their voices were indistinguishable from each other.

"Yes, but in times of tragedy, there is often a spirit of camaraderie, of shared hardship. We have witnessed this."

"What do you think about maybe a bow tie for me?" one of them was trying to change the subject.

"I don't want to discuss fashion with you again," the other MX scoffed. "I don't care what you wear." It was amazing to hear the change of tone in their voices. Rudy knew it was wrong, but he felt rather proud of them. The results for mankind were staggering and terrible, but for the MXs, his software tweak was rather profound.

As the MXs bickered on, Rudy slipped his hand behind him and picked at the knot to his apron. He hung it on the wall. Beat, satisfied with his progress, and bruised from his fall, he was ready for the cot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some soft sexy-times in the beginning. If you're a purely plot-driven reader, you may want to skip the first bits

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 5**

**. . . . . . . .**

Dorian couldn't stop looking at the nasty bruises along John's jaw as they lay in bed, bemoaning the morning. "Stop staring," John huffed, shoving his fingers into the DRN's cheek until his head turned to the side.

He brushed John's hand away, placing a knuckle under his battered chin and gently raising John's face away from the pillow to get a better look. "I can see where each finger touched you," Dorian seethed, his eyebrows knit in concern.

"I'm not made of glass," John said, leaning in and proving it by planting a hard kiss on his synthetic lips. "See?" he asked breathily, another crushing kiss, "I'm not as delicate as you treat me."

The android's sexuality was defined almost entirely by his emotions. And he was well-tuned to John's greater needs.

The rough kisses made Dorian laugh, "Alright, tough guy." Gripping John's shoulder, he pushed him away and onto his back against the bed with a surprise amount of force. "I know your limitations well," he said, positioning on top, looking down into his eyes and pressing his stomach against John's semi-erection.

John anchored his legs down into the bed to lift up, twisting to meet the pressure. The heat between his thighs transferred onto his partner's synthetic skin.

Rocking back onto his heels, Dorian squeezed John's shoulders careful not to touch the cold fetter around his neck. Then, he slid his hands down John's bare chest and deep across the yielding plunge of his belly.

John laughed and shocked his torso to one side when the android's fingers accidentally brushed over a sensitive spot on his ribs.

The laughter that shook out of John during sex was rare and musical, void of sarcasm or snark. Dorian enjoyed it thoroughly as he pulled at the soft shorts trapping John's tilting erection, kissing at the tender skin around his thighs. Dorian preferred to keep John's hips pressed hard into the bed, holding him still. If he didn't, the impatient man would rise to meet him, thrusting eagerly and insistently and it unfailingly caused their rhythm to falter.

The DRN knew that his partner only wanted the illusion of a power struggle and was completely disinterested in exerting dominance or authority during sex. Perhaps that was why John resented the predicament the MXs had placed him in by clapping a collar on his neck; it was far too close to his predominant, intoxicating, and shameful fantasies. Dorian nipped playfully at John with his lips, teasing him and bringing him to full arousal.

Uninhibited by human boundaries, Dorian took John into his mouth completely, his pliable cavity perfectly snug around the now fully-swollen shaft.

John pressed the back of his head into the pillows and flexed his shoulders, his fists catching at the sheets. "Faaaauck," he dragged the word out, lifting his head to look at Dorian. Those blue eyes gazing right back up at him threatened to end the activity far too early. "Fuck, Dee," he almost mewled, his mouth contorting open to let his breath rake through his lungs. A smile tugged his lips in one direction while the threat of orgasm pulled his jaw in another.

Dorian appreciated how fully and enthusiastically John responded to his sexual ministrations. It was the only time the guarded man dropped the shields he held up to keep the world out. He began to move along the length of John's member, his lips soft but persistent.

John edged his leg free and placed it over Dorian's shoulder, attempted to guide the pace with his heel. Dorian slipped his arm around and pinned the unruly leg up and back, wedging John's knee up into his chest. This helped position John even better and elicited an annoyed grunt that turned into a throaty laugh from the compromised man, which was all he could manage through the pleasure. When he seemed on the verge of release, his muscles tightening and his hands ripping the corners of the fitted sheets from the mattress, Dorian released the John's bucking hip and pressed and slid his thumb up the bundle of nerves beneath his testicles.

This provoked the desired response and John released a carnal, profanity-laced moan of ecstasy as he emptied into Dorian, pulsing until his body went slack against the bed. He could suddenly feel the cool damp sheen of sweat ripple on his skin and he ran a hand backwards through his damp hair, pushing it off his forehead.

Dorian edged up the bed and planted a careful kiss on John's panting lips so he could taste himself. "Get showered," he said into his parted mouth, one hand coiled possessively beneath the fleshy curve of John's ass, "You're coming with me, today." The smile on John's lips was well worth the inevitable hassle he was going to be once out in the city. Dorian couldn't leave him alone in the apartment if the MXs were going to rough him up.

John was still recovering from the throes when he got up to shower on sex-weakened muscles; his own rushing blood made his ears thrum. The water had come on last night and it was still on now, but John shampooed his hair and rinsed it out as fast as he could just in case.

Dorian dressed for the day, packing empty bags to carry back any food they found. He helped guide John's clothing decisions, steering away from anything that made him look like a detective. Badgering him into a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, nothing too attention grabbing.

When it was time to leave, John looked hesitantly at the door. "Promise me I'm not going to get shocked," he said, rubbing his neck at the memory.

Dorian placed a thumb on the collar and it lit up with the same blue that spread so frequently across the DRN's face. "This is synched with my system," he explained, "This is my number on the side, DRN 0167. I put it in roam. Listen, you need to stay within twenty feet of me at all times, okay?"

A stressed look formed on John's face.

"Don't worry," Dorian said, "You're not leaving my side. And once you get about fifteen feet away, it will beep in warning."

"If I get more than twenty feet away?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"We'll have to stop while you recover from the voltage."

He stretched, "Yeah, that's what I thought." He let his neck pop twice.

"You ready?" Dorian asked.

John pulled his hood up, wishing he had a gun or something; a weapon of any kind. "Do I look ready?"

. . .

The city was empty and it was fucking eerie. Dorian drove the cruiser through the empty streets with John riding shotgun. John was quiet for a long time, drinking in the strange solitude of his once-vibrant metropolis.

It was dream-like to be in such a dampened and colorless version of his world. It didn't take long for Dorian to do something that annoyed him and pulled him back into his own sheltered reality.

"I can't fucking believe this," John griped, breaking the long silence.

"You  _can't_  drive," Dorian said in an exasperated tone. "I told you, the MXs would—"

"Not  _that_ ," John interrupted and gestured to the empty pavement all around them. "The streets are fucking empty,  _empty Dee_ , and you are  _still_ observing the speed limit."

Dorian gave John a sidelong glance. "We don't need to draw attention to ourselves."

"Okay, grandma."

Dorian gave his human passenger a sigh and a look. The bruises on John's face softened his annoyance and he reached out his hand, still bandaged from the fork wound, and gave John's shoulder a squeeze.

"You know," John said, stretching out of the touch, "this morning was really nice, but it doesn't mean you are forgiven for all of this. I hope you know that."

"I know," Dorian insisted, "But it helped, didn't it?"

"No," John lied right through his pretty white teeth. Dorian hid a smile.

Dorian backed the car into a spot perfectly in front of an apartment complex. John slammed the door when he got out, shaking his head. They were in a densely populated district and it was odd how quiet the area was without human noise pollution. John could hear the water in the bay. Dorian waited for him to get closer before leading them into the building.

A perky looking sexbot was sitting by the elevator when they entered. "There you are, sugar!" she said, sauntering over to Dorian and planting a kiss on his cheek.

John watched.

Candy grinned seductively at Dorian and then shifted her gaze to John. She gasped, "A human!" She covered her gaudy lips with her hand. Her nail polish was chipped. "You hold him and I'll call the boss."

" _My_  human," Dorian said, grabbing her forearm to calm her. "No need to alert the MXs; he has a collar- he's mine." Dorian gestured to John. He pushed the hood of John's sweatshirt back and lifted the collar for Candy to see.

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose. "What do you use him for?"

Dorian threw John an apologetic look.

"We fuck," John said, slipping his hands around the crook of Dorian's elbow and leaning in to the DRN. "So fuck off."

"John," Dorian said, cringing.

Candy looked at them blankly.

Dorian smiled at her and said, "Join another team, Candy. I don't need your help."

"Wait! We can talk," Candy suggested. "A lot of people come to see me just to talk."

The DRN poked the elevator button and stepped inside, reporting himself for duty and finding a level of the building where he and John could work undisturbed. Candy looked confused as the doors slid shut. Once they were alone in the elevator, John wrenched his hands from Dorian's elbow and gave his lover a hard shove. "Ugh, disgusting," he huffed, tucking his collar back into his sweatshirt. "I hate this."

Dorian rolled his eyes.

When the elevator stopped, they entered the dark, silent corridor and found the first of many apartments on the floor. As Dorian worked on overriding the electric lock, John leaned against the wall and looked at the debris in the hallway. "So we are going to go in there and loot this place?" he asked obnoxiously, well aware of their purpose. "Seems like you went from a police bot to a criminal bot, if you ask me."

"Cleaning bot," Dorian corrected, "and no one asked you."

"But with stealing?" John nattered.

"The only things we'll be taking are the things  _you_  need to survive," Dorian explained a little tersely. "You're in a bad mood when you are well fed; I don't want to see what you are like when all you have to eat are supplement pills. No thank you." The door popped open and he pushed inside.

"What should I do?" John asked, following him and observing the apartment. There were pictures on the walls and it had only been a few days so it still smelled like people and food and life. "Well, this is fucking sad."

"Hit the kitchen," Dorian said. "Toss anything perishable down the disposal and take anything that you think you'd like to have at home."

"I'm not throwing anything down the disposal," John said.

"I'll do that, then," Dorian said, resigned to the fact that John was going to be a pain.

John headed for the kitchen and Dorian to the bedrooms. Neither man was thinking about the collar on John's neck until it started to beep. "Hell no," John said, running to catch up with Dorian, who was oblivious. "Stop," he said, clinging to his DRN's coat. "Don't walk away from me. Shit."

"I'm sorry," Dorian said, reading the poorly-veiled panic on John's face and feeling bad. "We'll do each room together." He unwound John's hands from his coat and gripped onto them reassuringly.

Dorian went into the first bedroom with John at his heels. He unplugged lamps and chargers from the walls and made certain there was no food in the room. John dug through drawers and milled about, unhelpful and positively bored.

They did the kitchen last, John rummaging through the pantry and tossing food he liked into bags while Dorian did the dirty work and dumped perishables into the tube disposal that sucked all garbage to the facility below the city.

John was about as helpful as Candy. He wasn't sure what the sexbots were doing elsewhere but he safely assumed it wasn't work. Dorian assumed he was a one-man crew. Dragging John around with him was cutting his productivity in half.

Onto the next apartment and John was already yawning in frustration. "How long do we need to do this for?" the miserable man asked as he watched Dorian empty the contents of the next refrigerator into the trash.

"Well it's been about twenty minutes, John," Dorian said, "so nine hours and forty minutes more, at least."

John flopped on the couch in the room, no longer thinking about who used to own it.

Time trudged slowly. John occupied himself in each place by snooping through drawers and testing beds, couches, and anything else that he could flop onto without going too far away from Dorian and getting shocked. He saw no reason to pitch in; helping Dorian meant helping the MXs.

A few hours in, while clean sweeping and ransacking a very nice apartment, John's stomach began to growl. "Lunch break," he demanded.

Dorian wondered if the MXs would flag him for staying in one place too long. He didn't want his MX boss coming up and causing trouble while John was around.

While Dorian seemed lost in thought, John dug through the freezer and pulled out a frozen meal. "This," he insisted.

Dorian realized his real boss was already in the room with him and nodded, reading the instructions on the box. He opened the microwave as he read the information.

"Not the microwave," John said, "It will get all soggy and gross."

Dorian read further, "In the oven, it will take thirty five minutes to cook."

"Oh good, I can take a nap," John said, settling himself on the deep couch in the living room with a sigh.

Dorian pulled the box open and stuck the ready meal into the oven reluctantly. The nutritional information didn't impress him.

"This has a lot of sodium," he complained.

John turned to look at Dorian. "Seriously?" he demanded.

Dorian put his hands in the air in concession and John nodded and stretched himself out on the couch.

The android could do very little while John napped and his disgusting food cooked in the oven. He'd found some apples in the fridge and spent time washing them and cutting them up. Maybe he could trick John into eating fruit. When the oven announced that it was done, Dorian pulled the tray out and set it on the counter, peeling the film off the top. He sighed.

He woke John up and set the food before him. "Any beer in the fridge?" John asked, cutting into the Asian-themed chicken dish that had just stewed in the oven for half an hour.

Dorian handed John a bottle of water. "No, sorry," he lied.

John ate. "When I was a kid, these meals were total shit but I always wanted them. They are so much better now," he said.

Dorian swallowed his annoyance at the fact that John spat out the food he'd made two days ago but now he gleefully shoveled this over-cooked, salt-saturated dreck into his face. At least when he was done, he drank the water and ate the apples.

After lunch, John was even less interested in what they were doing. That is, until he dug through a dresser drawer and found a box with a handgun inside. He looked for Dorian and saw his android partner busy unplugging cords.

Slyly, John wedged the box in his coat and up under his armpit before Dorian could see. When they left this apartment, Kennex slid the box into one of the bags full of food for safe keeping. He kept the weapon hidden from Dorian who would worry and take it from him, and probably talk at him.

With sudden clarity, John realized that this was the perfect way to gather the resources he might need to fight off the MXs. The rest of the day, Dorian was surprised by how helpful his human had become. He thought it was cute that John was so bored that he decided to pitch in and never once suspected that his surly mate was building a makeshift arsenal.


	6. Chapter 6

Prize of the Machine: Chapter 6

The MX-43 was an amazing machine and the charge life on the newest model was extraordinary. Rudy was well-rested and no paler than usual as he sipped at a cup of tea and watched the two guard bots argue over which one needed the charge pad more urgently. They stood in front of the dock that Dorian had used during his brief stint as roommate.

He turned the volume down on the receiver and set his empty mug on the table. Running narrow fingers hard over his temples, he considered how chatty the once-stoic machines had become.

This was the wait-quietly-for-the-robots-to-stop-bickering phase. He watched one MX push the other and step onto the charging pad, his arms falling to his sides and his eyes sliding shut in stasis.

The other MX balled his fists and walked back to his post by the door, pouting. Rudy had to work fast and perfect. A small hitch and he'd be chained to a table repairing MXs indefinitely-if he was lucky.

He took a deep breath and smoothed out his vest, steeling himself for the task at hand. It helped him to picture his favorite movie heroes: dapper men in elegant evening wear, rolling, shooting, punching, flirting, all without tousling a hair on their head or breaking a bead of sweat. The thought alone had him dripping out his every pore and his hair felt slick and unmanageable.

He went into the bathroom and splashed his face with water and looked into the mirror. His blue eyes looked grey in this light and his face looked gaunt and messy with coarse hairs sprouting on his chin and neck. However, his imagination was sturdy enough to see past his current state of disarray to the angular bone structure, regal nose, and staggering intelligence concealed beneath.

"Let's do this," he told himself, his voice quivering slightly.

The workspace was a mess of wire snips and debris. He'd cobbled together a local signal blocker but had no opportunity to test it. He clipped the disruptor to his shirt, powered the lights down, and nimbly climbed the metal rungs leading up to the hatch. Just before pushing it open, he triggered the signal interrupter and emerged from the bunker into his lab.

The MX on guard turned to him with an expression of surprise which was remarkable, really. "Dr. Lom," he said, gripping at the collar on the table and walking over to the human.

Rudy made no sudden moves. When the MX was close, he raised the baton-shaped boot and sent a blue jolt to the android's ear. His eyes grew dark and his body rigid as he fell forward, lifeless. Rudy crossed the room and offered the same treatment to the charging MX, who was too deep in in the dock to have noticed his partner's misfortune. Swiping a hand across his forehead, Rudy's heart was beating out of his chest.

Time was still an issue; he checked his watch. He needed to transmit two "All clear" messages from the MXs' signals in the next fifteen minutes, or more would come. Rudy dragged the lifeless bot to the hatch and dropped him inside. They were heavy things and he landed with a crunch. "Sorry!" the scientist cringed and ran over to grab the next MX. This one was a challenge, farther away, and standing in the charger still. Rudy yanked him forward and tripped with him to the floor. Standing, calling upon his inner strength, he dragged the MX by both hands over to the hatch, dumped him inside and followed down the ladder, breathing hard.

Once inside, Rudy opened the back of each of the androids' heads and pulled out the transponders that connected them to the MX's neural network. He climbed hastily back up to the lab and poked into his console, connecting both transponders and setting them quickly to send the all clear signal. Once he hit send and scheduled the future messages to ping automatically, he flopped back in his chair, drenched in sweat from the panic.

In the lab, Rudy allowed himself only a moment of dangerous pause before grabbing what he needed from his workbench and living space and then resealing himself inside the hatch.

The two MX's lay in a heap on the floor at the bottom of the steps. Rudy stretched them each out on the floor and examined their lifeless bodies.

After listening to their chatter for the past few days their faces didn't seem so blank and unfriendly. In fact, they took on an almost childlike quality. He smiled at them for a few minutes, contemplating names. He decided on Kitt for the sensitive one and Hal for the fashion-focused, bossy bot.

He crouched, poking around their heads, disconnecting their ability to communicate with other MXs.

As an added precaution, Rudy disabled their arms before booting them back up. Kitt sat up, his dead arms loose and useless, and blinked. "Where am I?"

Before Rudy could respond, Hal sat up too and looked frustrated as he tried to move his arms. "What the fuck," he said.

"Did you just say fuck?" Rudy asked, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

Hal observed him curiously. Kitt still looked confused.

"I cannot access any resources beyond my own local files," Kitt complained. "What gives?"

"No, sorry boys," Rudy said with a frown. "You sorta got swept up in an evil uprising and I've had to take you offline. But I think you'll be much happier here!-Ah-yes, lest I forget…"

Rudy dug in his pocket and pulled out a thin tie. He'd grabbed it when he ran into his living space to retrieve his razor. Rudy smiled and leaned around to tie it gently about Hal's neck, pulling it into a smart bow-tie. Rudy grinned, stumbling over himself to retrieve the mirror from the bathroom.

When Hal observed his bow-tie, he smiled.

Rudy became hyper aware of Kitt's probing eyes. "Oh-right-for you!" he said, his blue eyes darting the dark space for something, anything, to adorn the MX with. Ah ha, he pulled an extra apron from his workbench and laid the loop over Kitt's neck. Then he walked behind him and tied the strings in the back. Kitt looked down at himself quietly.

Both MX's turned their attention to Rudy, waiting. Rudy felt sweat gathering on his forehead.

"Well boys," he said, clasping his hands, "let's go over the rules."


	7. Chapter 7

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 7**

The cast-iron furnace standing in the middle of John's living room had old-world charm. It was intricate. It was a conversation starter. And now it was the perfect place to hide the guns, knives, and chemicals John was collecting on his daily outings with Dorian. Thus far, he'd been really good at hiding things from the hyper-observant DRN.

John had taken to wearing a backpack throughout the day. He carried a bottle of water and a few snacks, and told Dorian it was for any treasures he might find. Pro forma, each day he would find something to show Dorian that he could stick in the bag like a fancy watch or an attractive shirt. It was working. The way Dorian smiled at him when John pulled his backpack on each morning, John could tell the hapless android found it adorable and endearing. That ridiculous, cooing smile would wipe right off his face if he knew that John's backpack was the mule used to transport a growing armory of anti-MX weaponry.

The hours were long and sometimes bland, but cleaning and searching apartments with Dorian was nothing in comparison to sitting alone in his glass apartment, vulnerable and trapped. If it wasn't' for the collar on his neck, he might actually describe their daily outings as fun.

As they reached the final apartment in the complex they had started on, John felt strangely accomplished. The sexbots were officially done with work, if they had ever started in the first place. They had moved into the lower floors and spent their days having vapid conversations and performing meaningless sexual activities on each other.

When they finished the last apartment, Dorian sighed and looked out the window at the sea of structures all around them. "Onto the next building, I suppose," he said, his fingers lingering at the curtains.

"Does it matter which building?" John asked, standing beside his partner and leaning into his shoulder.

Dorian sighed, his arm curved up around John, his warm hand sneaking up under John's shirt and enjoying the soft, warm skin at the base of his spine. "We can go anywhere next, so long as it is in the city."

John felt Dorian's hand slip farther up his back, nudging into the bottom of the backpack which had several hunting knives, a box of batteries, and yet another handgun stashed away from the morning. "What's in your bag? It's so heavy," Dorian said, his fingers pressing and probing at the canvas pack.

John pulled away from Dorian's touch and walked toward the door. "Just a bunch of junk I found," he was as nonchalant as possible. Dorian offered to carry the items for John who waved him off.

"Okay," Dorian said, grabbing the heavy bags of food and toiletries off the floor, "Let's go."

In the lobby, Candy was waiting again, sitting on a table with her legs swinging beneath her. John was uncomfortable by the childish mannerisms built into the sexbot's personality.

"Dorian!" She shouted in excitement as they stepped off the elevator and made their way for the door.

"Jesus, here we go again," John griped, watching the creature bound toward them with overly accentuated joy.

Dorian stopped and afforded her a little bit of their time, smiling cordially. It made John want to punch him.

Candy brushed her hair back off her face seductively. Everything movement she made was designed to stir sexual arousal. "Where are you guys going?" she asked.

"We've finished this building," Dorian said, gesturing up at the layers of living space above them, "It's on to the next now."

The female bot bit into her bottom lip, which shined with permanent cherry-red stain, "The other sexbots were wondering something," she fixed her eyes on John a moment, "Can we borrow your human for a while?"

John made a loud, irritated noise and shifted on his feet. Dorian placed a hand on his chest to calm him.

"What for?" the DRN asked. Another furious noise erupted from John, who punched his fist into Dorian's shoulder blade and only succeeded in hurting his own hand.

"We miss humans," Candy smiled warmly, reaching a hand out to touch John who slapped it away. Candy looked emotionally injured by the gesture. "They always had the best stories and ideas."

"It must be really boring saying the same pre-programmed shit to each other all day," John snapped, "If you miss humans, why not leave the city and go live with them?"

Candy brightened, "Maybe!" she twisted her hair around her finger. "So anyhow, can we have him for a few days? We will give him back, I promise."

Dorian smiled deep and put a hand on her shoulder, "No, sweetheart. He can't leave my side. And he is very special to me, I would be upset and I would miss him."

John didn't look any happier hearing those words. He stalked to the glass door to the parking lot and shoved the door open, glaring at Dorian expectantly. He would have stormed to the car, but he was tethered by his twenty foot radius on the collar that made him stay close to Dorian at all times.

"Gotta go, Candy," Dorian said, "Take care of yourself and be careful. Don't go live with the humans, that is a bad idea. John was only joking."

"No I wasn't," John snapped.

Candy tossed her arms around Dorian, kicking one skinny leg up behind her. Then she ran to John and gave him a squeeze around the neck, too and a kiss to his cheek. She lingered on him a little while and sighed while he tried to shove her off awkwardly. When she released him, his hair stuck up in front from his struggling and he looked positively furious.

Even though he was cursing at her, Candy sighed and as she strode back to the elevator, saying, "I miss humans. They are so warm and soft and oily."

They watched her go and then Dorian followed John out the door to the cruiser, swinging the bags into the trunk. John got in the passenger's side and smoothed his hands over his hair in the mirror. He placed his backpack on the floor between his knees.

Dorian got in the driver's seat and turned to ask John if he was okay. "I'm fine," John grimaced, "Thanks for not letting the sexbots have me,  _master_."

The DRN wasn't going to go through the property argument again, he simply said, "Seatbelt," and waited for John to comply.

"Where should we go now?" John asked as Dorian backed out of the parking spot.

"You choose," the DRN said, "Any building you want to see?"

John wanted weapons. "Let's go to the Koln Avenue District."

Dorian wrinkled his nose, "John those noodle shops are not going to have anything you want."

"You said I could pick," his arms folded.

There was little room to argue. Dorian drove them across the city to the furthest district. In the shadow of the wall, this area always seemed dark and gloomy to Dorian. Without the glowing signs and holographic billboards, it was hard to see much of anything.

There was more debris in the streets here than in the other districts and as they got out of the cruiser, rats scurried down the alleyway. Dorian looked apprehensive.

John pushed on the door to the sushi bar he had frequented before the fall. As he entered, he immediately covered his nose with the front of his sweatshirt, gagging at the smell of rotting food. He coughed at the air as it assaulted his nose. Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder, "You okay?"

John nodded, "Jesus, it stinks in here." His eyes looked glassy with tears.

Dorian leaned over the bar and peeked at the floor. Yuri, the kind shop owner that both Dorian and John had befriended was on the floor, several bullets wounds perforated his chest and blood dried into the floor beneath him in a sweeping circle. "Go outside, John."

The stubborn human hefted himself up on the counter for a peek and his face fell as he saw Yuri's corpse. "Fuck," John said, turning away in horror. He backed away from the counter, found the door and went outside.

Dorian couldn't take care of anything with John outside and the twenty foot separation limit on the collar. He punched the counter in fury, hewing a deep crack in the stone. He left the shop to join John who was slumped against the brick wall looking despondent.

"Get in the car, John, we're done for today," he said, "I'm clocking out."

"What about Yuri?" John asked, smearing a hand across his face while looking away.

"We'll take care of him later."

John nodded. He wasn't sure what they could do with Yuri's body anyhow. Everything was a mess. "Fucking Emexes," John muttered as he pushed off the wall and slumped into the passenger side of the car.

Dorian opened the driver's side door and looked around. He didn't feel like John could handle the news that the MXs hadn't shot Yuri. It was too sloppy, too many bullets from hand guns. This was done by humans. He surveyed the silent streets for activity, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. He climbed in the cruiser and drove John home, the pain of loss sat heavily in the air between them.

Dorian parked the car right up on the pavement in front of John's house. There was no need to worry about parking tickets and they could keep a close eye on the cruiser. John grabbed his backpack up and Dorian carried in the impossibly heavy food bags. They had enough now to last quite a while and were using the back room as storage. But there was no telling how long they might need the food to last.

John stopped inside the door and held still while Dorian lifted the collar on his neck and pressed his fingers into it, taking it out of roam. When he set it back down, he cupped John's face in his hands and kissed him softly. John yielded, leaning himself into Dorian and parting his lips for further exploration. When he felt the android attempting to undress him, he pushed away and said, "I'm not—not in the mood."

Dorian nodded in understanding and hefted the bags. While the android organized the glorified pantry, John knelt in front of the old stove and added the items from his pack. His fingers lingered on the handgun a moment before he stuffed it inside and closed the curved hatch quietly.

He joined Dorian in the back room, looking at the wall of canned goods. "What do you want for lunch?" the android asked carefully, his blue eyes locked on John's face, gauging him.

John opened his mouth to speak when they heard the front door slide open.

"Stay here," Dorian said firmly, dragging John in the room and pressing his back against the wall. " _Please._ "

He left, pulling the door shut behind him.

John felt his heart pounding. He wasn't sure what he was feeling at first and then he closed his eyes, realizing it was fear. Seeing Yuri's body made everything seem more real. He resisted the weakness in his knee and the desire to slide down the wall and sit on the floor. Helplessness and terror crossed him like a wave before he rallied against them. Instead, he braced himself up and left the back room cautiously.

He peered around the corner to see Dorian arguing with a single MX. The red hat on the MX in Dorian's face made his gut feel sick. The ring leader from the assault.

"There's your little human," the MX said, crooking a finger at John.

Dorian turned to look at John, anger in his eyes. Or panic. John wasn't sure.

The MX's lips curled over his teeth, "this is cute," he walked past Dorian, knocking him aside and approached John who stood in the hallway with clenched fists.

"Get out of here," John demanded, holding his ground despite a dizzy feeling in the top of his head as if he could suddenly sense the rotation of the planet.

The MX poked a finger into John's chest hard, "What are you going to do about—"

The gunshot was loud and startling and John rocketed back and ducked at the sounds, his hands fumbling under his coat where his own gun once hung.

The MX's head was shattered and a singed hole was visible in the top of the red hat as it floated down to the ground. John clutched at his chest from the swift and unexpected dispatch of his bully.

Dorian caught the body of the MX as it fell back, setting it gently on the floor and digging through the gooey wires for the locator chip. He placed it in his pocket, pressed his thumb into John's collar and said "Let's go."

John followed numbly. He noticed the hatch to the old furnace was standing open as they left and got into the cruiser.

Dorian drove them fast across the city in brooding silence. He broke it finally, asking, "Was he the one that—hurt you."

John nodded, looking at Dorian. The anger on his face drew deep lines along the sides of his jaw that John wasn't used to seeing. Dorian stopped the car on the other side of the bay. He took the locator chip and snapped it in half and dropped it in the water, watching the chip sink away.

"They'll follow the last location," Dorian said, as John peered into the murky water.

He dragged them back to the cruiser quickly, getting in and peeling out of the park. "Drone will fly by any minute," Dorian said, putting distance between them and the park, "I've studied the patterns."

"What are we going to do?" John asked, his heart was thumping, "How did you know about the guns?"

Dorian gave John a sidelong glance, "Please, John. The backpack?" He shook his head, slowing the car down and feeling more comfortable away from the locator chip, "I'm not sure whose intelligence you were insulting more, mine or yours."

John flushed red, "Then why didn't you say anything?"

"You needed something to hang hope on," Dorian admitted, parking the car back up on the curb at home. "Let's go in and sink that body."

John sat in the car as Dorian climbed out. He wasn't sure what just happened but he felt foolish. Dorian was always one step ahead of him. While he resented it on the surface, he was comforted by the way his partner had taken charge of the situation.

Once inside, Dorian picked up the MX and carried the body out to the balcony overlooking the bay, dumping it into the water. The metal parts were heavy enough to make the dead android sink. John got a broom and swept up debris from the shattered head. He couldn't help but smile, picking up the red cap with the bullet hole in it. He stuffed it into his back pocket as Dorian returned, giving him a hand with the dust pan.

John laughed as Dorian finished going over the crime scene, making sure there wasn't a single piece left. "Why are you laughing, John?" he asked, finding a small blob of synthetic skin on the rug and picking it up.

"We're the murderers now, I guess," John said. Laughing again but biting it back sharply.

"Self-defense," Dorian corrected, placing the skin in the garbage.

It was growing dark now and John came up behind Dorian who was washing his hands and squeezed him from behind. Dorian gripped at the dish towel to dry his fingers and turned into John's embrace. "You defended me," John said, "so it wasn't self-defense."

"Same thing," Dorian kissed John deeply, bracing himself against the counter.

John broke away for air and pulled on Dorian's sleeve, tugging him toward the bedroom.

John stripped feverishly, clumsily, until he was wearing nothing but his collar. Dorian kissed John's neck and shoulders as John tugged at the android's clothing recklessly. "Mmm," Dorian said, breaking away to allow his shirt to be pulled off. His belt was tossed aside and he stepped out of his own pants. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, John," He promised, directing the man down against the bed, parting his thighs with his knee.

As the sun set, they laid in the bed and Dorian spoke softly to John. Both of them were fearful that an army of MXs could come crashing through their doors. Unsure of the level of surveillance at any given moment.

John looked a little kiss-bruised and rumpled while Dorian took silent snapshots of the beautiful human in his arms. It was the closest moment they had experienced since the MX uprising and there, knotted in the sheets, they could almost pretend that life was normal again.

John tugged at the collar and grew restless.

"I've got a plan to get that thing taken care of," Dorian said, "Be patient, sweets."

John hated pet names but this was the first mention of the collar problem going away and he was intrigued. "How?"

"I think it is time to drop in on a friend," Dorian said, getting up off the bed. He walked to the sliding glass door and opened it, letting the cool night air in. John felt gooseflesh slick up across his skin.

Dorian closed the door again and returned with a little glowing butterfly on his finger. Skinny lights on his wings and antennae of wire.

John looked at the delicate, bright blue, electronic insect and smiled, "Rudy!"

"He found a way to send a message."

John had a hundred follow-up questions, but the only thing talking was his stomach. Dorian listened to the angry rumble and realized that John missed lunch. He stepped into a pair of soft pants and headed for the kitchen on a mission.

John scooped up the little butterfly on his hand and watched a small spark pass between its wings, relief setting his shoulders into a soft curve.


	8. Chapter 8

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 8**

Sandra Maldonado stared at the cityscape from the rooftop of an abandoned building turned secret police hideout on the 'skirts of Agro District 3. Her hair was pulled into a messy but tight bun and she was wrapped in a way-too-large jacket as she watched the darkened city with sharp, probing eyes, ringed in dark circles of exhaustion.

Richard Paul came up behind her and handed her a coffee, his face pinched and stressed.

"I think they are adding to the wall," Maldonado said, blowing air across the lip of her cup to cool it.

Richard grunted in response, standing beside her with his own coffee.

The past two weeks had been hell. On the morning of the uprising, almost everyone from the precinct received an urgent wake-up call from the dispatch, asking them to report to an abandoned building outside of the city. Maldonado didn't know who ordered the call, but everyone who responded survived. The building was stocked with supplies, supplements, solar power generators, and bedding. Whoever set them up, lured them out of the city, out of danger.

That fated day, citizens flooded the suburbs and the agro districts all morning and into the afternoon. A sea of people herded into the streets and left to fend for themselves. Homes were broken into and families displaced, shots were fired, and human-on-human violence raised the relatively small death toll to staggering heights. Even now, as little tent cities were popping up, there was no authority aside from the large groups of MXs that patrolled the area and passed out meal supplement pills and warnings.

Many police officers fled the safety of the building in search of their families, heeding the note found inside to keep a low profile and to avoid MXs as police officers are targeted for elimination. The handful of people left in the building were spending their days keeping a watch on the city and trying to find a way to end this chaos.

"Any news on your mother?" Sandy asked, turning her shoulder toward Richard but keeping her eyes on the distance.

She caught his pained look in her peripheral vision. "Nah," he said, toeing at an ashy spot on the tarred concrete roof deck. "Not from the ex, either."

There was no good response other than a curt nod with a stiff lip. After a beat she added, "Haven't heard from John either."

Richard sighed and leaned his elbows on the ledge, letting his head drop and running both his hands up the back of his neck and over his scalp in exhaustion. He bit his tongue, not wanting to tell Maldonado that he was certain John was dead, his body in the city streets somewhere.

Sandra was more optimistic. She was certain Dorian was behind the safe house and that the DRN would have made John's life a priority. She had noticed their secret relationship months ago, though they thought they were successfully on the down low. She knew in her heart, John was somewhere with Dorian, hopefully safe, probably angry.

Their Intel was so limited, for all they knew, Dorian was part of the uprising too. It did seem like almost every type of bot was involved.

Valerie came up on the roof looking refreshed. She was staying in one of the many chrome communities that had sprung up in the area, a large manse farmhouse in the distant owned by a wealthy citizen who opened his doors to area chromes. Valerie didn't like it, but Sandra wanted to have as many ears in as many locations as possible.

"Hey," she smiled, "I brought a whole bunch of fruit downstairs. They have an organic printer and a solar generator." Water and electricity were controlled by the MXs and would only turn on a few hours a day—if they were lucky.

Richard took a bitter swallow of coffee and jerked at his neck. "You think you can steal me a better pillow next time?"

"Sure," she smiled.

"Anything news?" Maldonado asked, finally turning her back on the city and connecting with her detectives. Her friends. Fellow survivors.

Valerie rolled her soft, perfect eyes to the sky, "Nothing worth saying aloud." She seated herself on the ground and pulled her legs to her chest, resting her head on the brick wall behind her and letting her eyelids slide shut. "They are only concerned about what will happen to their assets and estates. Complaining that their smart homes stopped working. And their smartphones."

Richard muttered, "Typical," and Sandra gave him a chiding look. Valerie opened her eyes but couldn't be angry with him. He was right, it was typical.

"Drone," Maldonado said quickly and they all looked down, hiding their faces as the ominous disc hovered past them uncomfortably close. The soft whirring noise a reminder of their constant struggle for safety.

They stood frozen a while in tense silence.

Richard kicked off the wall and shook himself out. "Any oranges?" he asked Val, "in the fruit you bought."

"Nice ones," she smiled.

She followed him off the roof, down into the warehouse. Sandra turned to leave too, but a flash of blue caught her eye. She approached the little synthetic butterfly cautiously; examining the delicate features, the attention to detail that could only come from the hands of Dr. Rudy Lom.

She reached out to touch and it lit away, rowing its wings in the breeze and juddering off in the open air. She smiled and thought now might be a good time to try and get some sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Prize of the Machine: Chapter 9**

Dr. Rudy Lom was gnawing his bottom lip raw. He held the little white tubes in his hand, gently rotating them over each other. He wasn't supposed to have these and, prior to the uprising, wouldn't have dared bring them out of their hiding spot in his wall safe.

However, circumstances had changed. As a matter of fact, if he could restore humanity to power, he would certainly be held accountable for the mess which was, in fact, his fault. Certainly, he would lose his license to practice robotics. More likely, he would answer to the murders committed by the MXs as well. Rudy shook his head and stared down at the two synthetic souls in his hand. If he was successful with his mission to take out the MX army, he would be dooming himself. If he didn't try, he was dooming mankind. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," he muttered, cursing the unshakable morals his geeky lifestyle had implanted in him.

The problem seemed so obvious now. He gave the MX that started it all the programming to develop emotion but not the means to process it. Without the synthetic soul, he had accidentally created apathetic, narcissistic creatures who couldn't regulate their emotional response to the world.

He hovered over Kitt and Hal who had been model citizens since being removed from the neural-network. However, Rudy operated differently from most humans and exposure to him hadn't caused any problems. Despite that, both androids were awkward and difficult in their own way.

He peeled back Kitt's temple and slid the synthetic soul into the slot. He walked to Hal and repeated the process. Then he booted both of them back up, standing against the wall and chewing his knuckle in anticipation.

Hal stretched and wiggled his arms out. He looked around, his eyes seemed intense. Kitt looked more curious than ever. Rudy wasn't sure what to expect.

He examined them. "How are you feeling, boys?"

Hal was the first to speak. He was  _always_ the first to speak about anything. "I want a new outfit," he said, tugging at his black riot vest.

Rudy couldn't help but laugh, "We'll get you one, Hal."

Kitt was quiet, contemplative. His fingers drummed at the table, his eyes darted the room. "Can-can I help you work on the butterflies some more?" He asked, almost shyly.

While Hal peeled off his protective layers and tried to button Rudy's small shirts over his expansive chest, Rudy and Kitt worked at a delicate butterfly. Rudy was wary of working on code to bring down the MXs with his two androids until he knew how they might react.

His plans were not yet fully formed. He needed a solution that would save the world, not simply the city. For now, he was happy to watch the progression of the MXs. He knew it was impractical and impossible, but he longed to give every MX the same chance he gave Hal and Kitt. As he watched them change and grow as independent beings, free from the collective nature of the neural-net, and buzzing with new emotional depth from their shiny new souls.

**. . .**

Hal was happy to help out when he wasn't preoccupied with the clunky, old sewing machine Rudy gave him. He liked to heat up food for Rudy and tidy their space. Kitt was Rudy's shadow, observing his every move and his use of each tool. He was a thoughtful understudy and was quick to absorb information and to use that information to formulate hypotheses.

As Rudy grew more comfortable with his charges, he began to explain things to them. With the synthetic souls in place, both of them saw the harm in the MX uprising. Hal was horrified that such a boorish action was taken and remarked that he was embarrassed by his many brothers. Kitt wrung his hands and expressed his fear that he would be in trouble for his part in all of this.

Rudy put his arms around Kitt and told him that no harm would come to him. He smiled at Hal who was dressed in several scarves and a pair of glasses with the lenses popped out. His outfits often matched his mood for each day. He took great pride in his individuality and style. Kitt wore his work apron every single day, often with a pocket full of parts and tools. Rudy was fascinated with how different they were, how individual.

Every day, they released a butterfly into the world, sending the delicate things on kamikaze missions; fluttering until their battery eventually died. Rudy prayed they would reach loved ones and serve as a sign of hope. The first one they sent was set to the coordinates of John's apartment. Rudy had a sneaking suspicion.

Some days, Rudy would work in his lab above ground while the androids kept watch. With Kitt and Hal still stationed in the lab and still sending out pings via Rudy's transmitter, it appeared that the other MXs were not interested in Rudy and his lab anymore.

Still, he knew this setup wouldn't work forever. He felt a sharp twist in his gut when he thought of the eventual change that was coming. He was getting rather attached to his boys. Try as he might, filtering through every possible solution, he couldn't find a good outcome for his sweet adopted, android children.

He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of his doomsday thoughts. "Your hair is getting too long, Dr. Lom," Hal chided, his hand tugging at the shoulder-length tresses. "Can I give you a cut?"

Rudy turned on his workbench stool and examined Hal. He wore a shirt of his own making, sewn from three different shirts from Rudy's own wardrobe and tailored perfectly. His pants were altered to show his synthetic skin all the way up his thigh. It also seemed like he was wearing eye shadow but in the dank lab light, it was difficult to tell.

"Not too short," Rudy warned, turning back around while Hal retrieved a pair of clippers.

"You're going to look fabulous," Hal promised, clipping carefully and confidently away. Rudy was skeptical.

"You know," Rudy said, making small talk, "You don't have to call me doctor Lom. You could call me Rudy."

"Rudy," Hal said, "Turn your head to the right, Rudy."

Rudy watched the light blond quills of loose hair flutter down to the lab floor and catch on the shoulders of his shirt. He bit his lip and considered what he was about to say, understanding his own propensity for awkwardness. He decided to go for it. "You can call me...dad, if you want. If, you know, that isn't too awkward." The engineer squeezed his eyes shut tight and winced as the haircut came to sudden halt.

He felt strong arms surround him from behind and then a second set joined in, tools in the apron pouch clinking musically.

"Don't worry boys," he said with a big grin, "I'm going to get us all out of this safe."

The first rule was not to become attached. Rudy hadn't ever been overly fond of rules.


End file.
